


Azanulbizar

by TheDwarfess



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Battle of Azanulbizar, Chemistry, Drama, Dwarves vs Orcs, Fits (mostly) with Canon, Gen, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, No Romance, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-03-21 17:57:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3701379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDwarfess/pseuds/TheDwarfess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My version of the great war of Dwarves against Orcs from 2793 to 2799 with its climax at the Battle of Azanulbizar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Azanulbizar](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3926851) by [TheDwarfess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDwarfess/pseuds/TheDwarfess). 



> The translation is done by my friend Yannik. Thank you very much!
> 
>  
> 
> Warning:  
> This fanfiction is about a war and the cruelties connected to it. It is not my intention to sugarcoat the battles. Therefore the reader can expect the horrors of battle, heartless deeds and the confrontation of characters with the aforementioned.
> 
> Annotations:  
> > To a large part this fanfiction will be compatible with the LotR-Canon  
> > Thrór dies in 2790, different from the movie in which he meets his demise in 2799. Because without him dieing there wouldn't be any war.  
> > Some characters (Balin, Dwalin, Óin and Glóin) have been made somewhat older so that thy can participate in the battle.  
> > Thráin DOESN'T disappear after the battle of Azanulbizar.  
> > Thorins fight with Azog remains so that the story overlaps with the happenings of the movie.  
> > The Dwarves of the Iron Hills have been part of the campaign from the very beginning.  
> > Originally Grór is King of the Iron Hills but here he has abdicated for reasons of health which leaves Náin King.
> 
> Disclaimer: Except for the OC Reginn nothing belongs to me and I'm not making money by publishing this story.
> 
> Age of some Dwarves in human years (2799):  
> > Thorin 17  
> > Frerin 15  
> > Dis 12  
> > Dáin 10  
> > Balin 21  
> > Dwalin 18  
> > Óin 19  
> > Glóin 16  
> > Thrain 50  
> > Náin 43  
> > Fundin 44

2790, Dimrill Dale below the East-Gate of Moria

 

“I will go inside now.” Thrór's voice was hard. He would enter Moria. He was sick of the contempt the human had towards the dwarves. Just a week ago he had started his journey in Dunland with only one dwarf as companion. Now he was standing in front of the open East-Gate of Moria and wanted to chance it. Mithril was his goal because then his people wouldn't live in poverty anymore. “Please my king! Don't go inside! The orcs are still in there!” begged the kings companion, a dwarf of medium age with red hair and beard.

“Nár, I WILL go inside and no one can stop me.” the king replied stolidly.

“But your majesty -”

“There is no but. I am Durin's heir and I will call Khazad-dûm my own again because that it is. The home to the Durin's Folk.” With this words he walked with proud steps as an heir who return home towards the gloomy gate.

Nár called after his king, asking him to turn back but Thrór didn't even look back. The remaining dwarf hid in the close by forest of Kheled-zâram and waited for the return of his king. But the days went by without a returning Thrór. Nár was sick with worry. Again and again he peered towards the gray cold cliffs, waiting for a sign of the king. But the red haired dwarf was waiting in vain. _I should have stopped him! I … I, oh Mahal! If he doesn't return then …_

A loud cry and the loud sound of a horn ripped him from his thoughts. Nár looked towards the gate and saw with wide eyes how a body was thrown out onto the stone steps.  _No! Oh no!_ Trembling he sneaked closer because he feared that the body was his king's. He crawled as silent as possible on the cold rock. His heart hammered in his chest.

Suddenly a dreadful voice sounded from the gate and spooked Nár so much that his heart nearly gave out. “Come bearded one. We can see you! There is no reason to fear us. We need you as a messenger.”

So Nár came ashen-faced out of his hideout trembling in every limb. As he saw that it was really Thrór's body on the steps a lump formed in his throat. Like in trance he walked to the steps. He slipped on the wet rocks and sprawled on the ground. But the fluid on the rocks wasn't water but blood. Thick crimson blood, that was sticking to his hands. Nár shuddered and his stomach turned. Slowly he turned his head and looked behind himself. The redheaded dwarf gagged as he took in Thrór's severed head and could only nearly stop himself from vomiting.

Orcish laughter sounded out of the shadows, ripping deep into the already devastated Nár. Then the dreadful voice sounded again:

“If beggars don't wait at the door but sneak inside THIS is what happens to them! If anyone else of your people shows his dirty beard here again they will share his fate! Go and tell them this! But if his family wants to know who is king here so his name on his face. I have written it! I am king!”

With trembling fingers Nár turned the head and found burnt in in Angerthas the name AZOG in his forehead. The name etched itself into his mind and heart like white hot iron. Just like the eyes of his king. Rigid and empty they looked into nothing. Nár moved his hand gently over Thrór's face and closed his eyes. Then the red haired dwarf picked the head up from the bloody rocks wanting to take it with him when he heard the voice again, Azog's voice:

“Drop it! Go away! Here you have your reward you scum!”

A small moneybag impacted against Nár's chest and dropped to the ground. Because he didn't dare to disobey Nár put his king's head back onto the stairs, took the small bag and ran away sobbing. When he turned back again he saw the orcs hacking the king's corpse to pieces which they then threw to the black crows.

That was too much to the dwarf. He felt the bile rise in his throat and then vomited onto the bare stone till his stomach was empty. He cried and sobbed blaming himself for his king's death. He had loved his king but he had betrayed him and didn't protect him but abandoned him in the hour of need. Azog was right, he was scum.

He cowered there for a long time. Finally he checked what was in the bag. There were only few coins of little value. He was tempted to throw them away because it was against his honor to accept a gift from a defiler. But still he kept them as proof to Thráin, son of Thrór, now King of Durin's Folk. At the next stream he found he cleaned himself to get rid of the dried blood. But still the feeling of guilt didn't abate. It was following him wherever he went like a shadow.

 

A week after the cruel death of the king he arrived completely distraught and frightened in Dunland where Thráin was. Every night he had seen Thrór's dead blue eyes in his nightmares. Nár was scared of what was to come. He feared to be sentenced to death for regicide if Thráin didn't believe him. But Nár's worry was unwarranted. Thráin accepted the message speechlessly and only when everyone was gone he uttered a scream of anger and rage. The new king succumbed to grief for seven days and nights. He wouldn't talk to anyone, not even to his children. But then the day came on which he stepped out of his tent and with a roaring fire in his heart and hate in his voice addressed his people:

“We can't accept this mockery! An orc that defiled my father, King Thrór, shan't get away unpunished. Call to the weapons and take revenge for his death at the hands of Azog with iron and blood! _Du-bekâr_!”

 

And so the grim vendetta of the dwarves against Azog the Defiler began.


	2. With iron and blood

2793, Dunland

 

“Náin, look at that. They're only children!” said a dark haired dwarf of medium age as he saw a new regiment of High King Thráin arrive at the camp.

“I know, Fundin. But the order of the High King is that all dwarves older then 45 have to take up arms.” Náin said bitterly. “If I could do something about it I would have done it already.” The blond dwarf was very dissatisfied with what was happening.

“But you are King!” Fundin tried to convince his cousin to resist. He grabbed his shoulders with both hands. “You can still command your own men yourself. You can refuse to -”.

“I may be King of the Iron Hills, Fundin” Náin hissed angrily, “but I have to subordinate myself to Thráin because he is the High King of our house, the King of Durin's Folk! If I refuse to help he will demand my head. THAT is something I can't afford.”

The king was desperate. He knew that Fundin was right but he feared for his family's continued health. He didn't want his son to grow up without a father because he hadn't followed the orders of the High King. Unsure and anxious he let his gaze drift across the many tents.

“Náin” Fundin said forcefully and grabbed the head of the king in his hands, forcing him to look in his eyes. “Please, we have to do something! He is sending CHILDREN into war!”

The King of the Iron Hills sighed. “I know. I'm sorry Fundin, but I can't do anything about it.” Náin lowered his head. He knew what his cousin felt. After all, Fundin had two sons that had to go to war, while his own child was spared.  _I'm lucky that my boy is only 26._

“I'm so sorry my friend.” he repeated and then left his relative alone to walk through the camp to return to his family's tent.

 

~*~

 

“ _Melhekhel*_ , a general of the Firebeards has arrived.” a guard announced.

Thráin looked up from his small desk in his tent and nodded. The guard turned around and left the tent. Shortly thereafter a gloomy looking dwarf, clad completely in black, entered the tent of the king. He strode towards the King of Durin's Folk with a controlled pace then, stood at attention and bowed slightly.

“King Thráin II of Durin's Folk, I am Reginn, General of the Army of his Royal Majesty Radswid III of Andvari's Folk.” The general spoke his Khuzdûl with a rough and wild sounding accent that didn't suit Thráin well. Leery he examined the soldier.

“I presume you came to support me?” the king asked with a warning undercurrent to his voice that didn't allow for any backtalk.

“Surly I am.” Reginn retorted as if he didn't detect the warning. The end of the sentence seemed to be in limbo so Thráin was apprehensive of the _but_ that was sure to come.

“But my king demands a recompense should you win the war.” he confirmed Thráin's assumption.

He had no plans to recompense the King of the  _Urs-tarâg*_ . He just needed Reginn's soldiers. How he got them wasn't of any importance.

“We will see. It will come down to how you and your men will behave.” Thráin pointedly drew his Dagger of his belt. While he did this, a silver ring with an inlaid sapphire blinked on his hand. “I know that your soldiers also burn with hate of the orcs and that they also want to take revenge for the heir of the highest of the Seven Fathers. You would do well to show similar zeal. Because...” Thráin paused to cut of a piece of the smoked ham on his table and continued: “you never know what could happen.” The king's eyes flashed dangerously.

“I won't be threatened by you!” Reginn hissed and took a defiant step towards Thráin's table.

“Is that so?” said the king bemusedly. An evil grin flitted over his face. “I know that you came with your wife and children. Do keep care of them. The grim creatures out there are very cruel...”

Reginn blanched. The barely veiled threat didn't miss its target but still the general hid it well that he had lost his balance for a moment.

“Yes, that they are.” he answered calmly “My men and I will gladly help you to annihilate them and to take revenge for your father. It will make them proud.” He forced a smile and bowed. Then he turned around to leave the tent.

“Do I have your oath?” asked Thráin insistently. Reginn faltered and turned on his heel to face the king. _This bastard! First he refuses to recompense my king for his soldiers, then he threatens me and now he wants me to swear a blood oath?_

The general had no choice. He took his knife and cut his left palm. Then he clenched his fist and waited until little drops of blood fell to the ground like rubies. They had barely soaked into the ground as he left the tent. _Mahal forgive me._

 

Thráin smiled pleased as Reginn left. After all there was a price for everyone. Even if Reginn would raise difficulties, Thráin would stop at nothing to reach his goal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *  
> Melhekhel = King of Kings  
> Urs-tarâg = Firebeards


	3. Pranks, Rants, Pain and a Ring

“Frerin! Damn it! DON'T DO THAT AGAIN!”, screeched Dís. She only heard her brother's mischievous snickering, but couldn't spot him. “I will get you back!”, said the young princess resolutely ans went into the sea of tents to search for the prankster.

The black-haired prince had prepared his little sisters candle with magnesium. When Dís tried to light the candle with a match the magnesium had burned brightly with a blazing white flame. Shocked she had dropped the piece of wood. Dís knew her brother just to well. He loved to prank her with his magic tricks since he convinced Uncle Fundin to teach him the art of alchemy.

“I will get you!”

The Dwarves that she ran past just watched with amused smiles. The king's youngest child was well known for her temper. They figured out quickly that the son of Thráin had to be involved in this. Almost no one in the camp hadn't come in contact with one of his magic tricks. Only three days ago he had mixed the mineral covellitewith the coals of the forge of the weapon smith. Cheerfully Frerin had observed the baffled face of the dwarf as he tried to understand why there were blue flames instead of the usual yellow.

Meanwhile the trickster had hidden behind one of the tents while watching his little furious sister who was still searching for him. Frerin was startled when suddenly his shoulder was gripped from behind and turned around. Before him stood his father in his crimson robe and looked at him sternly. Frerin gulped. _Oh no!_

The very same moment the king grabbed his son at his collar with a harsh grip and dragged him towards his tent.

“I will show you how to behave!”, he hissed in the meantime.

 

As they arrived at the tent, Thráin released his son and planted himself in front of Frerin. Before the prince could utter even a single word in his defense his thoughts were torn asunder into thousands of pieces. A sharp pain burned in his cheek and then Frerin realized that his father had struck him.

“You have shamed your family, do you know that?!”, the king ranted. “Your constant pranking is proof of your incompetence.”

Frerin stared at the ground ashamedly, trying endure the tirade. It was his own fault that he had to listen to it now.

“I expected more from you! But you are as weak as your brother.” Thráin continued.

Thorin was everything but weak. He was the best big brother in the world. The prince couldn't allow Thorin to be belittled. Even his father wasn't allowed to do it.

“He would be a better king than you!” Frerin spat out.

At once he received another slap to his face for an answer. “How dare you?!”

The pain brought tears to Frerin's eyes. _I … can't … cry! Can't cry!_ The prince's lips trembled but he finally managed to force the tears down and forced himself to look at his father's ice-blue eyes with his head held high. He didn't want to show weakness to at least keep the last bit of respect he had.

Thráin snorted disdainfully. “Now you even start to cry like a little girl! Pathetic! And you dare to call yourself an heir of Durin. Oh, if you had just died back in the firestorm then I wouldn't be shamed by you now!”

The last few words pierced Frerin's heart like a dagger. Aghast he looked at his father. _“If you had just died ...”_ The terrible words Thráin had spoken repeated themselves in his head over and over like an echo. Frerin just couldn't believe what he had just heard. His father, _his father_ wanted to see him dead! Numbly he stood before the crimson form of the king unable to move.

“Remove. Yourself. From. My. View. You eyesore.” Thráin growled. When Frerin didn't move he screamed into his face: “GET OUT!!!”

The prince flinched involuntarily and left the tent hurriedly. He had no idea where he was going, he just ran; it was completely unimportant to him. He just wanted to get far away from his father's tent, far far away. He just wanted to be all alone. Tears ran down his face but he was indifferent to what the others would think about him as they saw him. What could be worse than what his father told him? _“If you just had died ...”_ It felt as if an icy clamp had closed around his heart and he felt awfully cold. Everything sank into freezing cold and gloomy darkness.

 

~*~

 

Thorin was on his way from the blacksmith back to his tent. The old dwarf had sharpened his eight pound blade to where it could rival the claw of a dragon. Soon the crown prince would go to war together with the other dwarves and his father against the orcs. He thought it his duty to follow his father. He after all wanted to take revenge for his deceased grandfather, too. It wouldn't be the first time Thorin would kill a orc and while thinking of killing the foul beasts he felt a hot fire erupt inside his heart and soul. The fire of revenge and hate.

 

Suddenly he felt a strong jolt at his shoulder as if someone ran into him. Reflexively he caught the person at the sleeve and was already opening his mouth to ask why the hell they thought it prudent to bump into the crown prince! But then he recognized his little brother who stood there with tear-streaked face and seemed completely distraught.

“Frerin?” Thorin was shocked to see his brother in such a state. Slowly he let go of the sleeve of his green tunic.

Without a word the younger one looped his arms around Thorin's neck, buried his face in his older brother's shoulder and let his tears roll into the black pelt. With him he was safe, with him he felt secure.

Thorin wasn't able to say what had upset Frerin that much but he knew one thing: the bastard who did it wouldn't come out of this unharmed! The crown prince drew his brother in a firm embrace and stroked his back comfortingly.

“It's alright Frerin, everything’s alright. I'm here. Schhhhh … I'm here now.” Thorin could feel Frerin's trembling chest and his throbbing heart even through the thick clothing. It hurt him at the bottom of his heart that he wasn't there when whatever had made Frerin cry had happened. There were only few things that ever managed to make his brother cry.

 

“ _Mum?” asked Thorin fearfully._

_Thekka was buried under a heavy block of granite which had fallen down from the ceiling. The legs of the princess were completely crushed into a pulp beneath it, her ribcage had been shattered by another big boulder which had fallen down. Crimson blood pulsed from the open wounds._

“ _Tho-rin, … take your … siblings a-an-and … take th-them … ou-out of here ...” Thekka manged to cough out while struggling to breath._

“ _But Mum, what about you?” Frerin squeaked timidly._

“ _I … will … c-catch up.” she promised. Her voice wasn't more than a breeze at this point._

_Thorin gulped. He knew that his mother was lying. He was to old to be lulled into a sense of security. But his little siblings would believe it. The little prince was afraid but knew he had to be strong now. He had to be strong for his little siblings. Had to be strong for … Mum. He nodded._

_Thekka smiled. “I'm … proud of … y-you.”_

_Thick blood streamed out of her mouth. Then the rattle in her throat go stronger and red foam soaked her full lips. A few times the children heard the gruesome sounds of their mother's breathing but then Thekka's eyes dulled. She was dead._

“ _Mum?” Frerin frantically shook her shoulders. Dís screamed. Thorin just stared at the body of his mother stupefied with horror. Finally he tore himself from his shock and took his little brother's hand and grabbed Dís with his other hand. Then he ran._

“ _Mum! Mum! MUM!” Frerin shrieked, trying desperately to run back to Thekka but Thorin dragged him on. He had promised her to bring them to safety after all so that's what he did._

_He ran and ran and ran. Out of the destroyed main gate. Away from the mountain. Away from the dragon. Away from … all he had ever known._

_Frerin cried, his tears streaming down his face. He was still unable to comprehend what just happened. But even still he knew that this horrible occurrence was a final one. There would be no going back. Everything that he witnessed in the last few minutes was far too much to handle for the very young dwarf of just nineteen years._

 

_In the evening the refugees set up a simple camp. Thorin was relieved when he saw his father and grandfather safe and sound sitting at a campfire. But the relieve was only short lived. Frerin broke away from him and ran towards Thráin crying all the way but the crown prince just embraced the little boy absentmindedly. Their father's eyes gazed empty and lost towards Erebor in which halls he still seemed to linger. Thrór wasn't any better. In his eyes you could see insanity and greed glinting. He seemed indifferent about the suffering of his grandchildren._

_Thorin moved towards his father and stepped beside him. The recent loss of his mother was bearing down on him and made him numb._

“ _Mum is dead.” he said quietly and in a monotone._

_His father slowly and sluggishly turned his head until he faced Thorin. Thráin's light blue eyes had lost all their luster and seemed nearly ghostly. Mutely he ran his hand through Thorin's black hair. The gesture was stiff and cold as if made by a puppet. Then without saying a word he relieved Thorin of carrying Dís stood up and walked away mournfully. The two boys were alone._

_His father's cold embrace hadn't comforted Frerin and had Thorin not come and rectified that he would have run away crying. His big brother was his tower of strength, his lifeline. He was there whenever he needed him. And he was here now and comforted him. Thorin gave him what he needed sorely: someone who there for him._

 

The memory flooded through Thorin like a river through a mountain. Through that day they had grown up all to fast. From then on all the way to today he was his brother's anchor. To be this anchor wasn't easy and often he feared the day when he wouldn't have the strength to continue.

When Frerin seemed to calm at least Thorin addressed his little brother. “What happened?”

Frerin didn't answer.

“Who did this Frerin?” Thorin asked again insistently but again the question remained unanswered.

“Frerin please answer me!” he pleaded. “I promise you that I will punish the bastard who did this myself.”

“No, you won't.” came the sniveling answer.

Thorin hesitated confusedly. “Why not? There is no one I fear.”

“Father was the one who did this.”

The appalled crown prince stepped away from his brother and looked into his brother's moist eyes. “He did WHAT?” Even if this was true he just couldn't believe it. “Why?”

“I played … a prank on Dís and then hid from her. But then father came … and hit me for this in his tent. He said that I was just weak and no heir of Durin. And then he called you weak, too. I then said that what he said wasn't true and that you would be a better king … so he hit me again. At the end he even said … that he wished for me to have died in the firestorm!”

Thorin again pulled Frerin close to him and embraced him lovingly. The crown prince didn't need any words as Frerin understood him even without saying anything. Thorin was aghast that his father would have said something like this. He hadn't ever said such words.

Suddenly Thorin's gaze hardened and as shadow flitted over his face. He had an idea what it could have been. “Frerin did father wear a ring?”

Frerin was somewhat taken aback because of this strange question. He thought about it for a short time and then answered: Yes. I think it was a silver ring with a blue stone.”

Thorin's heart clenched. Involuntarily he clenched his fists. _That damned ring!_

“Thorin? What's the matter?” Frerin asked.

Thorin took a deep breath. “I have to talk to father.”

“Please don't. I don't want him to do something to you!”

Thorin smiled at Frerin and pressed a kiss on his forehead. “I will be careful. Don't worry.”

Then he went towards his father's tent.

 

The young heir to the throne simply ignored the guards who wanted to block his way into Thráin's tent. Even while he was still very young – 46 years to be exact – he already had much authority and acknowledgment amongst his people. After all Thorin had been prepared for his future duties as king of Durin's Folk since his childhood.

Even while he was seething on the inside he forced himself to be calm. For quite some time Thráin was often easily angered after all and because of that it would be counterproductive to rush into his father's and king's tent like an angry orc.

Thráin's gaze shortly rose from his desk to Thorin and then he calmly finished the document he was writing. Thorin was grinding his teeth as he noted the silver ring on his father's hand. The one all kings of Durin's Folk had worn before him. A Ring of Power. One of the Seven. It had already driven Thrór into insanity and now his father seemed to succumb to the ring's terrible spell, too. _When I become king I will annihilate this damned ring._

Only after Thráin finished he put the quill aside and faced his son.

“What is so important that you dare to disturb me?” Thráin asked annoyed.

“It is something personal my king.”

“Something personal? I wonder what frivolity you are speaking about.” Thráin paused, stood up and planted himself in front of Thorin. They were both watching the other's pale, nearly ice-blue eyes. “I do hope that you aren't wasting my time!”

“I do believe that asking for the reason you hit Frerin is no waste of your time” Thorin stayed as polite as was proper. But inside of him the fire of his temper slowly burned through him trying to get to the outside.

“So the good-for-nothing has run to you and cried himself out on your shoulder.” Thráin seemed amused. “You want to know why I disciplined him? For the same reason I would discipline you: He is a disgrace!” The last words he spat into Thorin's face.

That was a stab into his heart but he had already expected this reaction from his father and so it couldn't unbalance him. If he wanted to know if the ring was really influencing Thráin's behavior he had to address the problem itself.

“Take of your ring!” Thorin commanded deliberately using a very personal tone of voice.

“What?”

“Take of your ring!” he repeated himself this time more forcefully.

“Why? It is MY ring!” the king hissed. “I can wear it when I want!”

“Don't you even notice how much it has changed you?” the prince carried on.

“What has THAT to do with MY ring? And why aren't you addressing your king properly?” Thráin's eyes flashed dangerously.

“You have changed so much since you got the ring from grandfather. Before that you have never put so much importance on the honorific form of address.”

“Back then I wasn't king. And I haven't changed a bit since then!” He replied slightly venomously.

“Then prove it take the ring off!” Thorin urged.

“NO! You just want it for yourself!” came the loud and furious reply.

“Father I don't want the damn ring. Just take it off!”

“You are a liar! You want to take the title of king from me!” Thráin's roared with a voice laced with rage and fury. He grabbed his son at the collar. The prince felt that the situation was about to escalate.

“Father, no! I just fear for you! I don't want you to end like grandfather!”

“Lies, all of it … lies” With the last word the king thrust his son away from himself. Thorin stumbled back a few steps trying to regain his balance. He didn't manage it in time. The crown prince fell backwards his head striking the edge of the massive table and then remained on the ground unmoving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOOM!!! yes. a cliffhanger. That one happened by splitting the chapter because otherwise it would have been to big compared to the others. Hopefully you will forgive me. I will have to pause, because I don't know, when my friend can translate the next chap. So, you have to wait...see ya.TD


End file.
